Brandon stepped inside the dim hospital room, the hum of the machines steady and unnervingly loud. Mrs. Bailey’s eyes were open, sharp despite her pallor, fixed on him with an intensity that made him halt mid-step. The door clicked shut behind him—final, deliberate.
“Sit,” she said.
He obeyed, tension coiling low in his stomach. He’d faced boardrooms, lawyers, even his father’s fury, but something about Mrs. Bailey—frail and fierce—unnerved him more than any corporate war.
She took a slow breath. “I’m not dying.”
Brandon exhaled in relief, though he stayed silent.
“But I’m tired,” she continued. “And I don’t have the strength to fight you anymore.”
His jaw worked. “Mrs. Bailey, I never wanted—”
“Listen.” Her voice cut clean through his. “Julia thinks love means saving everyone. Fixi
